Dear John
by 44454469
Summary: "Dear John, you probably think this is funny but..." Is not your usual way to start off a Dear John letter, yet they never really thought of themselves as a normal pair anyway. Fem!Sherlock X Male! John Mpreg? (Pregnant Sherlock Holmes - female)


_Dear John._

You probably find this funny, how I'm starting this off 'Dear John' but let's get to the point. I'm not going to be around anymore. Don't try looking for me either because it'll be too dangerous if you do. I want nothing more than your safety, John. I love you more than life itself and never forget that. That's why I'm writing this letter in the first place – so that way you don't come after me. If you also truly do love me back, DO NOT look for me...

As this letter is extremely out of character for me, my best regards to the crew and Rosalie McArthur, you deserve her. No. You deserve each other. She's a brilliant woman that I could never meet to her standards, John. Ah, I'm rambling now, so I must be off. Also tell Mrs. Hudson my best regards.

_– Sherlock Holmes._

Yet he does the exact opposite and looks for her. John searches everywhere for her. The café where they met, the laboratory – Scotland Yard, yet she's left without a trace. No text messages have been received since yesterday and he still is looking. He doesn't rest either, he tries to reach Mycroft but that doesn't seem to make any help in the cause. He's probably in on this, John assumes and tosses the cellphone down and types in the web address for his blog.

He is without a clue as to what to write, but he decides to type away anyway to ease his agitation. Subconsciously he clicks 'send' and he then realizes what he wrote, and goes 'uh-oh.' John face-palms, leans back and says foulmouthed words which echoes into the flat, thankfully not to loud to wake Mrs. Hudson.

On the fourth night of his search for Sherlock, he's visited by Lestrade and Donovan, whom forcibly tell him to sleep or else they'll draft him to the mental ward for obsessiveness over the whole ordeal.

_ Obsessive? Sherlock Holmes. In love. With him. Then, she leaves. Without a trace?_

_How can he not be sane after a message like that?_

* * *

She heads down to the café for a drink of coffee – a rarity to her as of late. She hasn't smelt the nutty aroma in weeks. Sipping on her heated cup of Joe, the young burnet was mindful of her growing stomach and placed the teacup down gently, pinkie finger resting it so it didn't make as bad as a **_thud_**. Blue eyes scanned the area with curiosity, because the Irish café was certainly different than the one back in London – back where her lover and her first met.

As her eyes met the door a man with matching eyes and hair casually slipped into the room, trying not to make a fuss of himself – yet he didn't dare place his umbrella nearby the stand with the others. It was his way of doing things, a bit overprotective he always was. And as he approached the woman with similarities to him he gave a tanging smile as he eyeballed the bulge centering in her midsection.

_She had not told him yet._

"Hello Mycroft. How's the queen been… _treating you_?"

Mycroft sat down placing his umbrella aside from him rather protectively, smirking at the woman's comment and giving a huffed chuckle. He patted his hand over his other and sat rather promptly, then after moving aside some napkins and doodads on the tabletop, he began to speak. "Quite well, Dear Sister." He paused and opened his mouth though eyes not unmoved from her midsection. It was far too much of a shock – even for him – and she was finding the whole thing absolutely hilarious, grinning the entire time.

"This is not for comedic pleasure in anyways Mycroft, I should stop laughing but your expression is priceless." She chuckled and rubbed the salty tears from her eyes. Similar azure eyes rolled ironically and in bothersome.

Mycroft wasn't amused. "Please do tell me what is the meaning of this!" He spat leaning over the table, catching her giggle-session off guard and breaking her back into more of a serious tone. "Sherlock stop being a child!" His tone was that of a whispering but he was still yelling almost. He never frightened her – not even as a child. Not now even in her darkest times when she was alone.

Sherlock's face straightened finally and she caught her breath. "Okay fine. Yes Mycroft. I'm pregnant. I took nearly a dozen tests _and_ went to a doctor. Its 100% positive. _Unfortunately_…" She let that last bit slip and it tasted sourly on her tongue. Sherlock leaned back – back muscles tightening from cramps and being in her first and a half trimester – she could feel bouts of morning sickness come and go and nausea strike her even while just sitting there.

_The child was nothing but a bother._

"What's with the long face brother? You don't actually think I want a child, especially at this point in my career?" She raised a brow and sipped on her coffee again.

Mycroft tipped upright – his mouth ajar and his expression realizing finally what this was all about "I know something that you don't" expression that she always hated. She cringed at that, even now as an adult. Mycroft studied her for a bit and then pried at her again for answers. He was her brother after all. Wouldn't it be inhuman if he didn't show a bit concern for his niece or nephew?

"It's him isn't it…"  
_It was a statement not a question._

Sherlock choked on her coffee then placed it down on her napkin, "Bullocks!" The shout interrupted the crowded chatter in the café and she then realized her mistake, leaning inward into Mycroft and sneering at him.

"Mycroft, listen. I have no intent on keeping this child – not because of John Watson. It's because of my status as a Detective right here and now: but I need…" She sighed leaning back as the pressure her belly was getting was too much at the table's corners. "Your help."

Mycroft sat upright, examined her vulnerable and pathetic state, then thought about it, then he stood. "Come seem me at my home in two days. But bring John Watson. He has to know who the child's real father is."

Eyes examined the man who had similar hair and matching eyes as they waltzed out the café, the bell tingled and made a joyful sound, finally closing and making a soft thud.

She was all alone. This was her darkest hour ever… If she had to, "So be it,"

**_NOTE: I hate asking for reviews and advertising and stuff but please if you can leave a review quickly about how I did well or not and if I should continue it, that'd be great and much appreciated! I really want to know if I should continue this one!_**


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